


whatever it is he's lost, may some day once again be found

by JessesGirl



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Even Supervillains Deserve Nice Dates Sometimes, F/M, Fluff, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessesGirl/pseuds/JessesGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He actually finds himself thinking that maybe this whole outing isn't so bad, after all. </p><p>Then they end up on the goddamned "kiss cam".</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever it is he's lost, may some day once again be found

**Author's Note:**

> This work was roughly inspired by a prompt on tumblr for more Wilson/Vanessa fluff that requested one of the two of them turn out to be a HUGE fan of something decidedly unsophisticated. 
> 
> I'm not sure this is the fic that prompt deserves, but it's sadly the fic the world is getting.

Vanessa Marianna is a very sophisticated woman. She likes art (obviously) and the theater (fine), and Italian restaurants, preferably with actual other patrons in them and "not scary men you've paid," as she likes to put it (awful, but fine, generally). 

Which is why Wilson Fisk legitimately does not understand how it's possible that they're spending a Saturday afternoon standing on a subway platform (distinctly not fine), in a throng of people (horrifying), waiting for public transport (ugh, _really_ ) to take them to a _sporting event_ (what is his life right now). 

Yes, it turns out that somehow, his Vanessa, she of designer dresses and firm _opinions_ about the acceptable thread count of hotel linens, is a baseball fan. A _Yankees_ fan, specifically. A _very enthusiastic_ Yankees fan, apparently. 

She'd insisted that he should be excited about this revelation, as it means she's had years of practice at being in a relationship everyone she knew frequently encouraged her to get out of. He'd huffed, feeling vaguely offended, until she'd laughed and kissed him and told him to cheer up, that she wasn't going anywhere and no matter what he did to the city, most people would definitely still hate the Yankees more. 

He'd then made the _fatal error_ of mentioning he didn't know that much about baseball generally, so he'd never bothered to see any of this on his own, and her eyes had lit up in that way he is utterly helpless to resist. 

So, here they are. 

He sort of can't believe he said yes to this, except the reason is standing next to him, wearing _jeans_ , a battered baseball cap and a bright, happy smile, and that's when he knows he is 100% fucked, and probably buying season tickets tomorrow if he can just talk her into letting them take the car next time. 

She'd said she wanted this whole outing to be an "authentic Yankees experience" or some such, and God knows he would lay the entire city at her feet if she asked for it, but one trip to the Bronx on the subway is surely enough for the rest of his life.

Accepting that this entire excursion was going to be a challenge, he'd made sure to buy them seats right behind home plate in the section that was expensive enough that he thought they'd probably not have to sit near very many other people to start with. (He'd also _maybe_ bought up several of the seats _around_ them to make extra sure of this, but since he didn't fill them with security disguised as baseball fans, he thinks this is actually a sort of progress.) 

Vanessa, who is familiar enough with his idiosyncrasies to roll with almost anything at this point, just smiles, puts her feet up on the (empty) seat in front of her and flags down the guy selling overpriced (spoiler alert: terrible) beer. 

Twenty minutes in to the third inning, Wilson Fisk knows he is _really_ fucked. 

Because Vanessa is _swearing_ , and it is _incredible_. 

Not that Vanessa doesn't swear, ever, but it's usually limited to very specific places (their bedroom) and circumstances (self-explanatory). In point of fact, he's definitely heard her say something to the effect of _profanity is a sign of a limited vocabulary_ to him on more than one occasion, a piece of advice which he summarily ignores, because working with Leland sometimes just requires severe language. Leland is an idiot.

But apparently displaying a "limited vocabulary" is perfectly fine in situations where Vanessa _strenuously disagrees_ with the call the home plate umpire makes about whether a runner attempting to score actually did or not, and he knows that watching his girlfriend yell at strangers should not be this big of a turn on, but this is apparently a day of discovery, all around. 

It turns out that Vanessa knows a lot of profanity. It is not all in English. It is _very_ attractive.

She sits down again, _fuming_ , and he starts laughing because he can't help it. She throws a handful of peanuts at him. 

_I am ridiculously in love with you_ , he thinks for approximately the millionth time, before buying them both another round of (terrible) beer. 

He finds he's oddly fascinated by the strange things the team considers "entertainment" between innings, particularly the bizarre video race that pits different subway lines against one another for no visible reason he can discern. Surely no one on earth feels that emotionally attached to the D train? Baseball is so strange. 

By the end of the fifth inning, the Yankees are losing by three, and Vanessa is consoling herself with a wide variety of horrifying stadium food. She has a point - _somehow_ \- about the hot dogs, which are so good he suspects that they must be laced with something. The cheese fries turn out to be kind of gross, though still enjoyable, the strange "ice cream" made of dots is just awful, and he discovers that he's actually _not_ as fond of cotton candy as he remembers from childhood. (Though the image of Vanessa with a wisp of pink fluff stuck on the end of her nose is probably going to stay with him a while.)

He actually finds himself thinking that maybe this whole outing isn't so bad, after all. 

Then they end up on the goddamned "kiss cam". 

Which is, quite frankly, the _stupidest_ thing he's ever heard of - who wants to watch a couple you don't know kiss in public _ever_ , let alone on a giant screen in front of thousands of people? - but here they are. 

Vanessa is gripping his hand in hers, and her eyes are very wide. She's somehow managing to look like she wants to apologize to him and _also_ burst out laughing, and it's an intriguingly appealing combination. He still hates everything about this. _Everything_. 

But despite his better judgment, he gives in and leans forward, nudging his nose against Vanessa's before kissing her, soft and slow. It only lasts a moment, but his heart still turns over at the fact that he is allowed to do this with her, as though it is normal. He wonders if that will ever stop being amazing. It seems doubtful. 

Feeling awkward, he realizes that he's still clutching her hand absurdly tightly, and brings her fingers to his lips and kisses them twice, by way of apology, wishing yet again that he weren't quite so hopeless at telling her all the things that he knows he's never going to manage to say. 

Some of that must translate on his face though, because he realizes that people are actually _awww-ing_ around them. Jesus Christ, _they're still on the damn jumbotron_. This is a nightmare. He can feel his face burning, but Vanessa just keeps right on looking at him as though he is something precious, like she _understands_ all of this already. Like he is loved. 

And she keeps looking at him like that, even when the Yankees end up losing by five. 

(Yes, there's more swearing. It's still incredible.)

By the time they're curled up together in the car on the way home - he'd made _zero_ promises about taking the subway _both ways_ after all, and though Vanessa had rolled her eyes at him, she hadn't looked even remotely surprised - Wilson Fisk is feeling largely okay about life. Vanessa's head is resting against his shoulder, there's an adorable spray of pink across her cheeks because she'd forgotten to reapply sunscreen earlier and he is pretty sure he made her happy today, which is his general baseline for personal success at the moment. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

It's a text from Wesley, and it's just a screenshot of one of the city gossip blogs. To be honest, he hadn't been prepared for the fact that declaring himself publicly would invite all this endless scrutiny of his private life in the press, but for the most part it's been fine. Not for the least of which reason is the fact that for a man in his line of work he's both very discreet and very boring. The last time he'd done an interview, the reporter had asked for a look into his "real life" away from the office. All he'd managed to come up with was that he and Vanessa were currently binge watching _House of Cards_ on Netflix. (Vanessa is *obsessed* with Claire Underwood.)

The photo accompanying the post that excitedly proclaims his public outing as a Yankees fan - and he can _feel_ Vanessa's grin as she reads the headline, and _knows_ they're definitely going to end up with season tickets now - is from the kiss cam, because of course it is.

Strangely though, it's not a shot of them actually kissing - which he is weirdly relieved about - but rather the moment right after, where he'd kissed her hand. The blog describes the pair of them as _thoroughly besotted_ , which is a fairly accurate summation of how he feels around Vanessa at any given moment in a day, but it's jarring to see his heart so plainly on his face. And plastered all over the internet. He'll _definitely_ be hearing about that from Leland in the morning. 

He is surprised to find that he's not angry. It's difficult to get but so worked up over something that's true - and sort of sweet, he supposes - even if it feels like it should be private, that look between them. Vanessa, reading his mind again as usual, slips her hand into his and squeezes. He presses his face into her hair and breathes in the smell of sunshine and her shampoo and whatever secret mental trigger scent it is that says _calm_ and _wanted_ and _home_ to him these days. 

He ends up watching absently as she texts Wesley with her free hand - vaguely wishing he could do that, type one handed so quickly the way she does - asking if he'd mind tracking her down a real copy of that photo, preferably along with the digital footage if he could manage it. Wesley agrees, but not before giving her shit about the Yankees' loss, because Wesley is apparently a Mets fan. 

Wilson Fisk is surrounded by crazy people. 

But then Vanessa tugs his hand to her lips and brushes a kiss across his knuckles, as she snuggles closer against his side and responds to Wesley with an animated GIF from a page creatively titled "Mets Suck". 

And he thinks that maybe that's not the worst thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, this Vanessa's a serious enough fan to keep score at a baseball game, I just forgot to actually write that into the story. I also feel like she probably has _opinions_ about the designated hitter rule, and whether Alex Rodriguez is a garbage person or not. 
> 
> Title's from the song "A Man Doesn't Know" from (what else?) the musical _Damn Yankees_.


End file.
